


This is What's Left of Her

by CharlieBravoWhiskey



Category: Original Work
Genre: Freeform, Gen, Implied Relationships, Writer's Block, Writing Exercise, implied rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 02:39:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlieBravoWhiskey/pseuds/CharlieBravoWhiskey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The suitcase held more than one could imagine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is What's Left of Her

**Author's Note:**

> Just something short (and apparently original...ish) inspired by two articles about suitcases of those left in psych hospitals.

This is what’s left of her.  

Her suitcase - once shiny, bright and new - now abandoned and gathering dust, filled with the most important things to her:  a letter from her long-dead father, handwriting spindly and difficult to read; a photograph, faded and crinkled with something  _something_ __written on the back, a hint of lips pressed to the face; a hairbrush witha pearl handle, given to her by her best friend, long ago and far away.

This is what’s left of her.  

Her name, social security number, and patient identification.  A name that meant nothing to her and eventually meant nothing to staff.  A social security number - brand spanking new when given to her and now just another sign, a statistic of a life gone by, used up, and empty.  A patient identification number - used by the staff on paper to tell one patient from another.  

This is what’s left of her.

A ghost, a shell, faded memories, and a long unvisited gravesite.  Since, the incident happened she had been a ghost, a shell, broken by unknown assailant and then further by the talk that happened.   _Been asking for it.  Too good looking for her own. Had those airs about her.  I’m surprised it didn’t happen any sooner._

Anger by the one friend she had.  Dismissal by her so called family.  Pariah by the society they lived in.   

This is what’s left of her.

  
Words smudged by tears in her best friend’s journal.  A flower - a rose, grown delicate by time - pressed in between the thin pages.  The same identical photograph found in her suitcase with a blush of lips against the face.   _She was so beautiful, so good, so kind.  No one knew her like I knew her.  And look where she is now!  How could they do this to her?_     __

This is what’s left of her.

She left behind a legacy - a legacy of feelings and thoughts, things most assuredly the relatives - family - didn’t want.  But the one she left behind, the one left holding the bag, so to speak, was left with a wealth far beyond her friend’s family.  Something they couldn’t quantify, couldn’t pin down, couldn’t name.  

This is what’s left of her.

The old-fashioned suitcase filled with memorabilia that only the dead would treasure.  It is no longer a fading picture of two best friends, marked with light traces of red lipstick; it is no longer a letter from a lover, ink smudged and faded; it is no longer a hairbrush with the pearl inlay, once the most valuable thing owned.  It is a promise made, a promise broken, and a promise kept.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. All mistakes are mine.


End file.
